Civic Oxygen

What we do at the breaking point

Hello fellow democracy defenders,

It feels we are living in a word I can’t stop turning over in my mind.

Not just the word crisis. That one gets tossed around so often it’s started to sound like weather. No, I mean something sharper. Something that carries both danger and possibility.

My long-time friends Jan Garrett and J.D. Martin (extraordinary musicians and truth-tellers) recently wrote a piece that stopped me in my tracks. With their permission and giving them their due, I want to begin here:

“Isn’t Break a fun word?”
The definition takes up half a page in Webster’s New World Dictionary (Yes, I do have the actual book) but the gist is this:
“Break - to cause to come apart by force, to split, smash, burst, or crack sharply into pieces. Also… a break can be a gap, interval, pause, or rest.”

And once you start holding the word up to the light, you can’t unsee it.

Broken hearts. Broken treaties. Broken dreams. Broken promises.

You can also take a break, break in, break up, break out, break down, and break through. There’s breaking news. There’s the NPR voice saying, “We’ll be back after this break.”

You can break into song. If you run out of money, you can say you’re broke. Or maybe you can break even, or watch a break-dancer dance.
— Jan Garrett & J.D. Martin

Which brings me to the question so many of us are living inside right now:

Are we breaking… apart?
Or are we breaking… open?

The Breaking Point Is Real

I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It feels like we are at a breaking point in this country.

Not only politically. Socially. Spiritually. Nervously.

Many of us are walking around with a low-grade hum of dread, like the background noise of modern life. It’s exhausting. And it can make us feel isolated, even when we’re surrounded by people who agree with us. My husband has to remind me that I’m not alone!

But I want to name something else that’s also true:

Even when the big systems feel fragile - or rigged, or loud, or cruel - there are people quietly doing the work of keeping the civic fabric from tearing.

Not glamorous work. Not viral work.

But vital work.

This is what I’m calling Civic Oxygen.

Civic Oxygen

Civic oxygen is what helps us breathe when everything feels smoky.

It’s the steady presence of people who show up, not to escalate, not to “win,” not to dunk on anyone, but to hold the line for peace, dignity, and safety.

It’s the school board volunteer who insists on facts and fairness.

The election worker who stays calm when someone is trying to provoke a scene.

The librarian who refuses to surrender the idea that knowledge belongs to everybody.

The neighbor who brings water to a demonstration.

The person who knows how to de-escalate.

The people who stand near the edges and do the unglamorous work of keeping the center from collapsing.

Which brings me to something I’ve chosen to do - because I needed to convert that nervous hum into something useful.

My Own Small Piece of Civic Oxygen

I recently became a member of the Austin Safety Squad.

We’ve been trained in de-escalation tactics, and we show up at vigils, protests, and marches to help maintain peaceful events.

Let me be clear about what this is and isn’t.

This isn’t about being a hero.

It’s about being a presence. We are consistently receiving positive feedback just for being there.

It’s about calming tension, noticing what others don’t have bandwidth to notice, and supporting people who are there to grieve, to witness, to protest, to demand change without the event becoming unsafe.

It’s the kind of work that rarely makes headlines, and if it’s done well, it probably shouldn’t. The goal is not attention. The goal is a peaceful gathering where people can express themselves and go home intact.

I didn’t join because I think everything is fine.

I joined because I don’t.

I joined because I refuse to outsource all responsibility for public safety to institutions that may not share my values, or my understanding of what safety really means.

And I joined because, in a time when so many things feel broken, this felt like a way to participate in the other meaning of the word.

A break can be a pause. A gap. A rest.
A moment where something new can enter.

What De-escalation Looks Like in Real Life

De-escalation is not magic. It’s not weakness. It’s not pretending conflict isn’t real.

It’s a set of skills that says:
“We can be fierce about justice without being reckless with human beings.”

At its core, de-escalation often looks like:

• Staying grounded when someone else is trying to light a match

• Using calm tone and body language (our nervous systems talk to each other)

• Creating space - literally moving people apart when tension rises

• Directing attention toward safety: water, shade, exits, medical help

• Not taking the bait when someone wants the moment to become a spectacle

It’s the opposite of “going viral.” It’s the work of protecting the human dignity in a moment that could otherwise tip into chaos.

And it reminds me, once again, that even at a breaking point, we still get to choose what we practice.

A Question for Us

If the country is breaking, what are we going to be?

Broken into pieces?
Or broken open?

Because the truth is: we are not powerless in this story.

Not all power is loud. Not all resistance is dramatic. Not all hope is naive.

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is become a stabilizing presence in public life.

Sometimes civic oxygen looks like making sure people can breathe.

Your Invitation

If you’re feeling that breaking-point fear, I want to offer two gentle questions—not as homework, but as a lifeline:

1. Where is there smoke in your nervous system right now, and what helps you breathe?

2. What is one form of Civic Oxygen you could offer this month that fits your life, your body, your limits?

It doesn’t have to be big.

It could be:
Driving someone to vote.
Supporting a mutual aid group.
Showing up to a school board meeting.
Volunteering as a poll worker.
Bringing snacks and water to a vigil.
Checking on a neighbor who’s scared.

We do not have to do everything. But we can each do something.

Because the thing about oxygen is: no one person creates it.
We create it together.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s how we break through.

Until next time - keep breathing, keep showing up, keep offering oxygen where you can.
With love and grit,
Donna

—

With gratitude to Jan Garrett and J.D. Martin for their beautiful reflection on the word “break,” and for the music and meaning they bring into the world. Have a listen to their latest composition here.